


one Hail Mary, for the hole in my heart

by jessicamiriamdrew



Category: Constantine (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, brief appearances by zari and wally!, demons as a plot device!, maybe more of a character exploration than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/pseuds/jessicamiriamdrew
Summary: It does stick in his mind that the demon said it wasn’t here to end him but to force him to...what, behave better?Probably another bit of demon nonsense, especially since it disappeared so fast. Demonic paradoxes are yet another thing he refuses to indulge.-or, constantine meets a demon, and deals with the unexpected fall out, all while time travelling.





	one Hail Mary, for the hole in my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phalangine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/gifts).



> title from casanova by allie x, something dark and poppy, much like i feel legends is!
> 
> this assumes familiarity with the Constantine tv show, specifically 1x4, and legends in general, s3 in specific. set at some point post s3 of legends, using the bits of info that have been released about s4.
> 
> rated M to be safe, but there's nothing super mature to be found here.
> 
> some violence, maybe some gore, definitely some blasphemy, because this is john constantine.  
> 

“Oh, that looks nasty,” John says. Why are fugitives somehow worse than plain ole demons? Maybe because there’s a chance regular demons aren’t specifically out for him. A slim one, granted, given the number of shit lists he’s made it on.

“Not here to kill you, John,” the demon says, sliding its ethereal form across John’s back. He holds back his shudder but the touch of a demon is a hard thing to endure. Like the slow drip of ice water down your back that threatens to expand, except with more evil intent.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, love,” John says, trying to shake off that pall.

He thinks of demons he doesn’t know as like trying not to get stung by a bee: stay still if they’re too close and pray you aren’t allergic when it all goes to shit.

“Speak carefully, John Constantine. You should know better than most.”

“My social calendar’s a bit full for any dates,” John says. “Maybe next century?” He much prefers the 1700s to the 1600s. Christianity’s been more fun when there’s all of these denominations to go around.

“Your pursuit of answers has a cost: may you be forced to provide them for once.” The demon swipes its fingers—a generous term for something immaterial—across John’s mouth. 

John is left sputtering, trying to spit out demon particles that don’t exist, by the time Sara makes it to his back alley.

“What the hell happened to you?” she asks, fairly immaculate looking. Whatever happened in their alley must have been an easy win. 

He shrugs at her. “Vague threats, mostly, some brief corporeality.”

“We’ll get Gideon to check you out,” Sara says, eyeing him warily. The idea that Gideon can sort out magical impulses and rhythms the same as science is absurd, but it’s not worth an argument.

John’s essentially given up on explaining to the Legends that some demons are just low level. Not everyone is worth writing home about or stressing over.

It does stick in his mind that the demon said it wasn’t here to end him but to force him to...what, behave better?

Probably another bit of demon nonsense, especially since it disappeared so fast. Demonic paradoxes are yet another thing he refuses to indulge.

*

He at least gets privacy with Gideon—something sorely lacking everywhere else on the ship. John’s honestly surprised they don’t have bunk beds.

Kind of nice, actually, to sprawl back in a med bay bed. Everything’s so crisp and clean back here. Being a Legend has been an upgrade in a lot of ways, as far as supplies and food goes. Definitely having regular medical care, even if Gideon’s questions tend to drag on and on.

“And have you been smoking?”

John grins up at the ceiling. “You know it, love.” Now that he’s traveling through time, he can try all the tobacco varieties he’s only ever read about. They all have their things they seek out in different time periods. So what if he seeks out booze and tobacco no matter when he’s at?

“On my ship?” she asks, voice sharp.

See, the thing about magic is, all one really needs is time to misdirect. If John can make it look like he’s somewhere else, in his room instead of the loading bay, some simple glamouring, then it’s easy to smoke. Set up a charm so that the smoke doesn’t escape, chain smoke until the buzz is high enough, and make it dissipate with a snap.

He’s not going to reveal all of his tricks to Gideon so early, even if there’s guilt creeping over him, making his joints ache.

“No,” he says. “I haven’t been smoking.”

At least, that’s what he tried to say, but when the words come out, he’s owned up to smoking on the ship. Like his brain just flipped the sentence meaning entirely.

Unsettling, but maybe John’s still tired and feeling it in his mind. Gideon is already saying how he can’t smoke on the ship, how dare he, something like that.

“Apologies, Gideon,” he says. He considers telling her it won’t happen again, but there’s no sense lying to her more, especially not when a sense of relief has overtaken him for telling the truth.

*

Annoying that Sara insists they’re all trained to hold their own in a fist fight. The battle’s already lost if you’re close enough to a demon you can get the upper hand by punching them.

Ray’s not pushing him as hard as Sara instructed, bless him, probably because of the coughs John played up earlier. He’s pretty nice to look at, too, and having Ray correct his form is more fun than he’s had in a while.

John is absolutely getting his ass handed to him. The worst part of that, he thinks, is that Ray is almost certainly holding back on him, even with his modified routine. John’s wheezing and Ray is smiling and meeting him blow for blow.

He gives it a good solid twenty minutes of effort before he’s tapped out entirely. He holds up a hand in surrender and slides to the floor. Watch, they’ll have to go fight a demon tomorrow and he won’t be able to cast any magic because his hands are too damn tired.

Ray sits down next to him, brandishing two bottles of water, one of which John snags immediately. Planned physical exertion is truly a pain.

“What’d you do before all of this?” Ray asks.

John swallows down a few gulps of water. He’s never sure what Sara has passed on—how much Sara even knows—but they do seem to be stuck with him for a bit. “Little of this, little of that.”

“I mean, were there..” Ray pauses, face scrunching up. Cute, a little of John’s type. He does like his men tall. “Magicians? Like how we’re Legends?”

John’s mind flashes back to Anne Marie, the Newcastle Crew, Chas and his life that won’t end neatly, and Zed’s drawings. God, he wonders what she’s drawing these days, if he’s showing up in a top hat avoiding poison slipped into his after dinner snifter.

“There was a group of us at Newcastle,” he says. “You don’t want to hear that story; it’s a rough one.” 

“But an illusion of magicians! What happened at Newcastle?” Ray is so eager to understand everything, to probably file it with away with his black and white ledger of good and bad.

It’s like a migraine coming on in addition to the self loathing he feels when Newcastle comes up.

John doesn’t want to tell Ray. Doesn’t want to tell any of them more than they need to know about himself in general. He chugs some water, hoping that’ll make the black spots in his vision fade away.

The longer the moment drags, the more Ray looks at him, the harder it is for him to stay still.

“I damned a little girl’s soul to hell,” John says. “She’s trapped in hell because of me.” As soon as the words fall off his lips, his headache starts to dissipate. The self loathing remains, but the physical pain has vanished.

Ray’s mouth is only half agape, one hand crushing his water bottle. 

“Oh, sorry, you’re the Jewish one, aren’t you?” John shrugs, deflecting from what Ray is obviously reacting to. “Hell is real. Doesn’t seem particularly Jewish or Christian, though.”

“I’ll pass that along to my rabbi,” Ray says, after a moment that stretched so long John thought the ship was malfunctioning.

“Actually, if it’s all the same? Don’t. No one needs to know all that unless they have to.”

John wishes he didn’t. Wishes Anne Marie and Zed and Chas and Gary hadn’t come across any of it.

Ray nods at him uneasily, and John sighs. He didn’t want to drag them all into this nightmare but they opened a door to demons. This, he presumes, is the consequence.

*

He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised when he tracks down a fugitive in 2018 and finds Chas already at the scene.

“A friend of yours?” he asks Chas, even as his heartbeat picks up. It’s been too long since they’ve both this close, and fighting together feels like home.

Chas gives him a look that feels like fond exasperation, and John grins back at him. This one is attracted to Chas’ multiple souls, judging by how intensely it seems to be attempting to physically rip them out of him.

A descendant of Naamah who already knows who John is, figured out how to lure John here and not solely for being an aberration. Not that it’s hard to notice that John tends to be so caught up in Chas. 

His time with the Legends has taught him a few tricks, though, and his Hebrew and Yiddish are better than it used to be, thanks to living on the ship.

“Listen, Chas,” he says when they have a moment next to each other. “Let him attack me.” He can feel Chas tense next to him, so he hurries along. “Don’t let me die, but if he wounds me a little, it’s fine.”

He presses a doll into Chas’ hand—not sure if Chas gets what it is, but hoping he’ll figure it out. “Fair play,” he says. “Just hold onto it until the timing is right.”

There’s not a chance for Chas to contest him, because he’s feeling the sting of claws raking up his chest. John spits in the demon’s face—not practical, not particularly useful, incredibly satisfying nonetheless. A slight distraction from the brimstone seeping into his blood.

Another hit drops him to the pavement but Chas is holding back, exactly as John had asked. If this doesn’t work, maybe Chas can get out of here safely. Maybe he’ll even go on the Waverider; he’d be a much better time traveller. 

“The famous John Constantine, soft and pliant, bones brittle as ever.”

John squints up, sees his father where he knows a child of plague resides instead. Bile rises in him, warring against the emptiness of his stomach.

His father, who isn’t really, reaches for him, stretches its fingers to pull out John’s heart. He chokes, hanging in that unfortunately familiar balance of life and death. Sweat bursts along his brow as John fights to stay on the physical side, away from the demons waiting to claim him.

The doll snaps; magic crackles throughout his body, and the demon retreats, wailing. “Turnabout is fair play,” he says. John is on the pavement but there’s time enough for him to prepare a banishment spell, while the demon is in agony.

Wonders what it feels like to have brimstone dug into something already a demon. Like destroying like, perhaps.

When Naamah’s child goes, injured and screaming and unsure, John waits it out on the pavement. 

Chas steps over, offers him a hand up, letting John pretend he would’ve been able to get up on his own by not asking.

“Knew you’d understand me, love,” John says leaning into Chas’ solid frame. “You’ve always been able to fill in my blanks.

Chas isn’t smiling at him, the way he often does when they’ve had a victory. And as poorly as John feels, this was a win regardless.

“What did you do to yourself?” Chas asks.

John’s knees buckle even as he holds on to Chas. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with gasping breaths.

Chas hoists him closer, unconcerned apparently about the demon goop covering him. The malaise spreads through his bones, and he desperately wants to keep his mouth shut, to hold on to Chas’ flannel and wake up in the millhouse, blissfully unconcerned with time travel.

“Magic takes its due,” Chas says. “What did that spell take?”

John closes his eyes to avoid Chas’ gaze. If he could just get away, if the Waverider would show up, if the vestiges of guilt weren’t wrapping around his heart. And he knows that the agony he’s in isn’t because of the spell he cast, it’s whatever thing he’s been fighting off that told him to be careful with his conduct.

“A few days,” he says, as if that isn’t the worst answer he could provide. John hates that the answer alleviates how ill he feels, when Chas is quiet beside him.

He’d told Chas he would quit with spells like that. John only has the one lifetime, and Chas has dozens of them rattling inside him. Chas asking him to engage in self preservation is a joke that he can’t imagine laughing at, not when John shaves days off his own life whenever it means a win.

He would’ve said anything in those days after Manny to get Chas to stay. When the apocalypse was averted and they were bleeding but alive, John said many things he didn’t suspect he’d be able to keep.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you,” John says, a little steadier on his feet. A few days of his life compared to saving Chas, having the power to do so, is more than worth it.

Chas smiles at him, disappointment and an unnerving expectation of John’s failure all wrapped up into it. John can’t keep track of how many times Chas has worn that exact expression when they’re together.

“I believe you,” Chas says, disentangling his arm from John’s waist. “That’s why you always do it yourself, isn’t it?”

There’s no witty barb for that rhetorical question, no way for him to shrug off the damning truth. Chas dies for him, gives up his family, and John takes it all away, grinning.

Chas is kind enough, unfailingly is, to take him back to their rendezvous point, making a few careful greetings to the rest of the crew.

“Mate,” he says, getting Chas to pause in his departure. But his words that invariably serve him so well are empty and Chas’ flannel feels like a suit of armor bristling between them.

The lapse of silence ignites and the rest of the team is politely pretending not to eavesdrop. “Until next time, yeah?” John lights a cigarette and prays to the gods he doesn’t support that Chas will understand the message he can’t spit out. 

A few moments later, when he stubs out his cigarette, he wonders what kind of fool he is to rely on parlor tricks when it comes to his best friend and why he let him walk away.

*

“We could get it out of our system,” she says. He’s very tempted to—his blood feels hot under his skin, and Sara is already so damn close. Dealing with succubi is never pleasant for anyone but this is one who sought him down specifically. Sara being there made it not as bad—he can’t imagine a succubus who wouldn’t find her attractive too—but they’re both strung up after.

But John thinks of Chas, who isn’t quite waiting for him yet hasn’t moved on either. Chas with a key to the mill house and the apartment, and John a tourist in every part of his life.

John leans in anyway, puts a hand on her thigh. Gives her the good ole Constantine smile, to boot. He’d very much like to move on from recent events, both succubi and Chas Chandler related. She grins back at him and he’s grateful for the familiarity of her movements.

Sara’s only a little pliant beside him; they never both let their guards down entirely. “Are we really doing this?” she asks, like he isn’t busy with a hand underneath her shirt and sucking hickies onto her neck. 

The succubus energy tugs at him. That other thing warping his thoughts won’t rest either.

“No,” he says, pulling away from her skin, forcing his hands to still. As soon as she asked, John couldn’t say yes. It would’ve been fun, but saying yes would’ve been a lie to what she was really asking.

Sara sighs a little, carefully removing his hand from under her shirt. “You seemed distracted,” she says, seeming not at all nonplussed.

“Oof, tough criticism,” John says.

They don’t separate entirely, but their bodies relax into something friendlier. 

“Is this about your friend?” Sara asks, letting him slide an arm around her waist. Nice to have someone solid by him. Her being deadly is an enjoyable plus.

John rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s about the things I’ve done to him,” John says, considering his words. He’d hoped the others hadn’t been paying that much attention, but he didn’t blame them either.

“I slept with my sister’s boyfriend and died a few times. I know something about being a burden.” Sara’s smile, when he looks at her, is soft and sad, a familiar story told with a funny edge to distract from how terrible the endings have been.

“Ruined his marriage, damaged his relationship with his kid, made it so he ended up with extra souls.” He remembers the protection spell he’d cast that night. John had meant it half as a joke, because he’s never been able to be too serious around Chas. He made the spell and kiss on the cheek sloppy and ostentatious which has been the only thing he’ll let himself have when it comes to Chas. 

“And then you joined a timeship,” Sara says. 

Might be the only smart thing he’s done in years, giving Chas a break of space and literal time, until he fucked it up last week.

“I thought,” John says, “that it’d be good, demons roaming the universe aside.” That Chas would forget him entirely or grow fond and John could deal with those extremes. 

“Did you ask him if he wanted you to stay?” Sara presses. They’ve got a bit of a bond, so he understands why she’s so curious. And if Chas is a weakness, then she needs to know as their captain.

John swallows against the ache in his mouth. “He asked me to stay, and I said I would.” It had been nice. Him and Chas and Zed in the mill house, taking road trips to where battles needed to be fought, living on a smaller scale.

He takes Sara’s hand to kiss it, to drop some of his emotions into something physical. “I’ve loved him so long that all I know how to do is lose him.”

The kiss to his lips is so soft he thinks he imagines it, would assume that if Sara wasn’t closer than she was moments prior. 

“Not all of us have people to go back to,” she says, a touch wistful.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” John replies, twining their fingers together. “You lot wouldn’t stand a chance.”

She doesn’t challenge him on that, but the truth of her words digs at him. Chas is out there, back in 2018, and John is living idly with a group of mostly strangers. He’s never expected an easy death or a long life, but is this how he wants to live out his days?

*

“We can’t use that spell,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t care what demon has crawled out of what pit of hell.”

Zari turns on him, eyes blazing. “Ray will die without this spell.” 

And the thing is? She’s probably right. There might be another spell but there’s no guarantee they’ll find it in time. No promises that the demon holding Ray hostage will give them the time to find it.

He’s not a Legend at the heart of it all. He’s a coward.

John’s flipping through another book, weighing their options, because if that spell backfires, it doesn’t matter their intent.

There are things much worse than death, a cliche he knows firsthand, and better that Ray die than be cursed into demonic form. If Ray dies here and now, his soul will pass on to whatever reality it is he’s been slotted into.

“Tell me what to look for,” Wally says, hand already vibrating on the corner of his books.

Huh. He forgets that speedsters can also speed read. “Anything that promises protection over expulsion.”

Wally gives him a thumbs up, and then it’s three incredibly blurry seconds before he reappears.

“Wow, magic is fucked up,” Wally says. “I had to go through that book three times just to be sure none of the spells were curses.”

John shrugs—any curse can be a blessing and vice versa. Wally points him to his options and Wally manages to drag Zari over to look too.

In the background miasma, Ray’s agony appears to be ratcheting up but he’s blocking that out. For now.

They’re arguing the finer points of whether they should err on ensuring it’s Ray they end up with or blasting the demon out of existence, when it starts.

Ray’s voice, taunting them all, that sunny inflection still present.

“Great,” he mutters. “They always have to play dirty like this.”

Zari’s hand is to her totem, and Wally looks ready to run to the moon and back if it’d help. There’s no running from all of this tonight.

“Is it me you want, or them?” he challenges.

“Why don’t you tell them about Gary? Your oldest friend?” Ray asks.

“Gary Green?” Wally’s face twists, trying to put together pieces without the information.

John drops his eyes back to the spellbook. If the demon is distracted enough to talk through Ray to them, the original spell might work after all. He’s familiar with the knife this particular demon is brandishing; he’ll never forget Mnemoth. 

“Did you kill Gaz?” Ray’s voice echoes through the too bright room, testing the ropes as he does. Like John would carry regular ropes.

Zari’s gaze is darting between him and this demon using Ray’s skin. 

John could say no. That it was Mnemoth that ate Gary up from the inside out, but it was John’s hands carving the runes into Gaz’ skin. John who goaded and coaxed Gaz into self sacrifice. He wants to say no, to deny culpability, to not give the Legends another reason to look askance at him.

Fever is already coming upon him just thinking about lying. Maybe Ray won’t remember this one. His hands are shaking and pinpricks of pain are promising to linger.

And Gaz deserves better, even if John can only manage it after his death. 

“Good as possessed him myself. Diced up his skin with magic and made sure Mnemoth finished him.”

John hears a wretch from someone, ignores it and pushes it aside. He’s got his mental energy back, that tug of a lie disappearing, and the demon is seemingly surprised by John’s admittance. 

He tells Zari and Wally to grab Ray’s hands, which they do. They aren’t in any danger of attack, yet, and if it goes wrong. Well. Ray should at least have the comfort of human touch before his existence is twisted.

The magic seems to work for him in a way it rarely does, the words supple and brilliant as he spreads them out. John doesn’t want to look at Ray while he chants, but he has to to make sure that it’s working. 

He suspects Zari and Wally are helping more than he is, but Ray isn’t a pile of dust when he finishes and that’s what counts.

When he’s sure that it’s actually Ray, he steps back. Let them have their reunion as he lights up a smoke. He’s not one of them, not in a way that it counts. It is nice to hear joy after a spell like that, instead of the agony he’s used to.

“Thank you,” Ray tells him later, and John shrugs it off. 

There’s too many nice people on this ship. They should know better than to think he’s one of them.

*

It’s more of an accord than something forced by either of them. Sara’s pinged a few normal, run of the mill time aberrations, and John could use some time in a place where he doesn’t get yelled at for smoking or his history of occult behavior.

Which of course leads him to Brooklyn, to knocking on the door of the apartment that’s technically his.

John forces his way in when Chas opens the door, but Chas doesn’t push him back out when he steps into his space. Before a lot of things happened, Chas would’ve pulled him in for a hug, one both annoyed and clinging. Instead there’s an ache, because he isn’t doing that now, though Chas does stay close.

Maybe the time stream has made him weak, made him grow funny mentally. There’s tea on the table when the door closes, a few of Chas’ sweaters thrown about the apartment. Chas must be spending more time there than John does. They sit down at the table, John ending up in a chair that has Chas’ jacket across the back. Maybe the closest he’ll get to a hug.

“Do you intend to stay?” Chas asks, but the question contains more than that. Are you sorry? Were there others? Do you have to go back?

John’s head pounds, that sinewy white hot torture crawling across his skin. He gets it that he can’t lie and he’s owned up to that. He’s weak when it comes to this illness, sorry enough to tell the truth. Not bold enough to try to seek out the demon that caused it.

But this isn’t one of the crew members, or an AI, or someone who ultimately doesn’t matter as much as Chas asking him a question. His skin is scalding, sweat gathering under his shirt, and clamminess is setting in. John doesn’t know what will happen when he lies instead of giving in to the truth. He doesn’t dare risk making himself that vulnerable to Chas though.

“No,” he lies and that’s when he feels it crack, that bit of demonic whatever it was slipping away. The gasp of air he’s been holding in for ages has finally let go. The lie he tells because he so desperately wants it to be true is the most damning of them all. That he’ll never stay because Chas deserves better than what he is, what John has always been.

Chas’ face is already stormy, but John gets it now. He understands that demon’s long game was all about punishing him for the way he treats others.

When faced with Chas, John always wants to fall back on a lie. Anything to avoid owning up to how stupidly in love he’s been for years. Hurting Chas in this way has always been easier.

“Hang on,” he says. “Let me—let me be careful with my words.”

John doesn’t deserve Chas’ time, the way that he sits back down, even if his gaze is closer to the door than to looking at John. 

“I met a demon,” he says. Chas raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t interrupt him, though demons are old hat for them both. “I was going to call it a curse but maybe it was a good thing.”

John sighs and flicks open his lighter to watch the light sputter and flame. “Haven’t been able to lie for a while. Just direct questions, mind, or else I’d have been totally useless fighting time demons.”

The emotion on Chas’ face sinks darker, but he must be able to tell John isn’t quite done. He knows that Chas is filing away how John said he doesn’t plan on staying as irrefutable fact. Another way John has hurt him.

“The thing is,” John says. “The demon said it wasn’t going to hurt me, and I figured it was a fluke.” Even demons have bad days. John will tell himself all sorts of lies to avoid the fact that his presence is harmful. “Told me I’d have to answer up.”

“So you’ve been telling the truth instead of lying,” Chas says. “Now what you tell me is guaranteed to hurt, because you mean it?”

The cup of tea sits untouched. He can’t stand to look at Chas head on.

It’s selfish to kiss Chas but he does: drags him in by the collar of his shirt and kisses him with all the vigor he’s been denying.

The soft, scratchy feel of Chas’ beard on his face is something John could sink into. He could pause with Chas right here, in the seconds post kiss.

“I did lie,” John says. “I’ve told you so many of them.” He settles back in the chair, waiting to see if Chas will bolt. Chas stares at him, that feeling of guilt welling up the longer Chas pins him with his eyes.

“I lied about not planning on staying. That hurt, actually, quite a bit.” His mind is lighter for it, like the fog that’s encircled his mind has gone away in a flash of sunlight. 

John thinks back to red colored carpet and boxes of pizza on the cherry wood table. “I lied when I said I was happy for you and Renee, when we got drunk and you told me you planned to propose.” A hard one to admit, a difficult level of risk to bring up Renee now yet if Renee will sink this then he never stood any real kind of chance.

“I lied to you by not telling you that I love you.”

That’s it, then. The elephant, unicorn, whatever the hell it is in the room, standing out there. John expects that to have felt like a dying gasp, but after so much truth telling, it feels like the gentlest thing to say.

They’ve never truly said it or explored it, beyond a few nights they don’t discuss, but John has known. John has seen Chas in love before, remembers the beginning days with Renee. There’s more than a handful of kisses throughout the years. 

John knows in his damned to hell soul that Chas is in love with him, and that he’s felt the same way at least as long.

Chas’ hand reaches halfway for his, doesn’t go the whole distance. John takes it, really tries to feel him.

“When do you have to go back to the Waverider?” Chas asks.

John starts for a moment, trying to place that in their conversation. He decides against analyzing it; he’ll simply answer. “They’ve got some regular time nonsense to sort, so I’m free for a while.”

He desperately wants Chas to say something or to ask him not to go, like Chas hasn’t done it before and John left anyway. 

Chas stands up, gestures John up with him. He hovers, uncertain, outside of Chas’ space. Funny how he has to look up at him; John’ll never get quite used to it. Chas sighs, the long suffering one John is so familiar with, and takes a step forward to kiss him. 

Words and kisses aren’t a perfect substitute. Things get lost between the two; John has a tendency to treat them both carelessly.

Or he did, anyway. He’s acquired a finer appreciation for the value of them.

Chas pulls back, presses a kiss to the top of John’s head, and says I love you in his own way.

He’s willing to fill in the margins, for as long as Chas will allow him to stay.

**Author's Note:**

> guess what angel we've been friends for a year and i wrote you this after shamelessly going through your prompts file. hope you hadn't intended on writing this one!
> 
> the turnabout charm is something i read about in constantine vol 1 the spark and the flame. I liked the idea of it, and ganked the generality of it.
> 
> also ray palmer is jewish and ray helping constantine with his hebrew and yiddish is a favorite headcanon that i tossed in here.
> 
> Naamah is a demon in jewish mysticism, and i thought it'd be fun to name drop some hebrew demons
> 
> sorry i don't mention all the legends.........too many people in this ensemble cast.
> 
> hmu up on tumblr at jessicamiriamdrew if youd like to yell with or at me


End file.
